Gifts, Large and Small
by AcrobatElle
Summary: It's her first real Christmas with her family, but Emma is having trouble adjusting. Set in Season 3 at the end of the Neverland arc, assuming that Pan never came back with them to Storybrooke and no new curse was set.
1. Chapter 1

They'd missed Thanksgiving, stuck as they were in Neverland.

In hindsight, now that everyone is home and alive and safe, Emma finds she's almost relieved to have skipped the holiday. As much as she's spent her life longing for a family and a place to belong and birthdays and holidays that didn't have to be spent alone, the reality of it is a little overbearing. Her parents are bound and determined to have a grand Christmas celebration, their first real holiday together as a family, and it's… a lot.

Emma did enjoy shopping for presents for the first time in her life, scouring YouTube for wrapping tutorials (how did Mary Margaret make her perfect packages and gorgeous bows so easily?), and even set up a little tree in her new apartment (she walked in on her parents once and signed a lease two days later), but there were other things to worry about.

Henry, for one. Buying presents for a pre-teen boy was easy enough, but working out logistics when there were two other parents to share him with - one of whom had only recently stopped trying to kill her and the other who was about as subtle as a sledgehammer in his futile efforts to win her back - was an ordeal she'd rather not go through again. They eventually worked it out; Henry would spend Christmas Eve with Neal, the next morning with Regina, and then join Emma and her parents at the loft for lunch.

Between that, her mother's cookie-baking parties, a month of non-stop Christmas music, and trying to get settled into her new place, Emma finally understands why people call the holiday season stressful.

She hadn't known, before. She doesn't know whether to feel sorry for herself or get angry about it.

Even on Christmas Eve, surrounded by her parents and the dwarves and… god, half the townspeople at Granny's Christmas party, she can't fully relax. Shopping is done, presents are wrapped, and Nat King Cole plays in the background as she sips on spiked apple cider and watches her parents slow-dancing in the middle of the floor. It's perfect.

She feels like she's suffocating.

Emma manages to slip out the front door without anyone noticing during a particularly bawdy, eggnog-soaked rendition of The 12 Days of Christmas, the chilly air bracing but refreshing. It's unseasonably warm for Maine in December but her breath is still visible, little wisps of fog hanging in the still night air. Her red dress is wool, but the scoop neck and three-quarter length sleeves don't do much to stave off the cold.

Just a few minutes, she tells herself, wrapping her arms around her torso and settling on one of the benches lining the sidewalk. The singing from inside Granny's sounds less obnoxious, almost pleasant, from a distance, and she allows her mind to wander and settle into something resembling peace for the first time in three weeks.

She's startled out of her reverie by the feel of a heavy coat being draped over her shoulders, warmth and the familiar scent of rum enveloping her.

"As lovely as you look in that dress, you'll catch your death of cold out here, love."

She smiles a little, not even turning around to look at what she's sure is a smirking face. "Hook." She grips at the leather, pulling it around her more tightly. "Thanks."

"Shouldn't you be at the party?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Her face falls and she turns to look up at him. "Oh god. They did invite you, right? They said they would - "

He does smirk then. "Did you miss me?"

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes. "I'm serious. Mary Margaret told me she'd - "

"Relax, Swan. Someone did indeed drop off an invitation at the Jolly."

"Oh. Well, you're a little late. Where have you been, anyway? I've barely seen you the last few weeks."

He steps around the bench and takes the seat next to her, careful to keep a respectable distance between them. "Just… out and about. And I wasn't coming to the party." He shrugs, his nonchalance not seeming quite genuine.

"Why not?"

He only spares a glance at her before leaning back against the bench. "It didn't seem to be my place. From what little I've managed to gather, this is a holiday for families." He frowns, canting his head towards Granny's as the notes of Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer filter out into the street. "And questionable music."

"No Christmas in the Enchanted Forest, huh?"

He shakes his head. "Not as such, no. I do enjoy all the lights, though. I was only walking through town to enjoy the view." He quirks an eyebrow at her and smirks, his eyes taking in her bare legs and high heels.

She smacks his arm and he laughs, and for moment she's stunned until she realizes she's never really heard him laugh, not genuinely.

She wants to hear it again.

She'd missed this. Between her family's earnestness and the awkward truce with Regina and struggling to keep Neal at arm's length, she'd needed some easy, lighthearted banter.

It doesn't last, though. He quickly sobers and looks down at his hand, fiddling with his hook. "You should be with your family, Swan. I'm sure your boy is wondering where you are."

Emma shakes her head. "He's with Neal tonight. And Gold and Belle, I guess. I'll get my time with Henry tomorrow."

That's all she says, but she can see the precise moment he gets it, registering everything she's managed to fit into a few short sentences. His eyes widen a fraction, but otherwise he doesn't give anything away. "Then why are you hiding from the party?"

"I could ask you the same thing. You weren't even going to come at all." She tries not to think of him walking the streets alone tonight, her stomach twisting at the idea.

"That's not an answer, Emma."

She sighs, snuggling further into his coat. She doesn't know what possesses her when she speaks next, and later she'll blame it on the eggnog. "I just feel guilty."

"Whatever for?"

She keeps her eyes trained at her feet, chews on her bottom lip. "I spent so many holidays alone and wanting a family, and now that I have it, it's just…"

"Overwhelming?"

Her head snaps up and she just stares at him, because that's it, that's exactly it. "How did you -"

He gives her a wry smile and shrugs, handing her his flask, giving her a moment to gather herself before she speaks again. She takes a quick swig, savoring the burn of the rum as it warms her through.

She sighs and takes another sip before handing the flask back. "I feel like I should be more grateful."

His fingers just brush over hers before he takes a pull of rum for himself. "You've spent most of your life learning how to be alone. I'd imagine it would take some time to overcome that."

"You would know," she says, not unkindly.

He nods, taking another drink before staring off into the distance. "Aye."

She takes a deep breath and nods to no one in particular, coming to a decision. She stands and removes his coat, something tugging at her heart at his resigned look when she hands it back to him.

"Wait here, okay? I'll be right back."

"Swan, you don't need to - "

"I'm serious. Promise me you won't go anywhere."

He furrows his brow but doesn't argue further. "All right."

It takes Emma longer than she expected to grab her coat and say her goodbyes, crowded as it is in the diner. She bulldozes through her parents' protests with a big hug and a promise to see them the next morning for breakfast and excuses herself out the front door before the dwarves can insist she stay to do shots.

She stumbles back out into the night air in her haste, half-expecting him to be gone. But he's still at the bench, wearing his coat once more and looking a tad lost.

"Hey."

He looks up from his seat to see her in her trench coat and scarf, his lips quirking up at her attire. "You could have kept my coat if you needed to stay warm out here, Swan."

She shoves her hands in her pockets and looks down. "No, I was ready to leave. I just… walk me home?"

His eyebrows shoot up nearly to his hairline. "Emma…?"

"We can look at the lights on the way."

He blinks at her, and for a man who so openly wears his emotions on his sleeve, his face is damn near unreadable. He opens his mouth as if to say something but quickly closes it, standing up slowly as she approaches him.

He finally seems to remember himself and cocks a flirty eyebrow, offering his arm. "Well. By all means, lead the way."

They walk in companionable silence, the sidewalks mostly quiet save for their footsteps on the pavement and the occasional Christmas carol, faint songs drifting out from cozy living rooms into the street. Her hand is warm, tucked into the leather at the crook of his elbow, and she feels herself relax for the first time that night.

The first time that month, if she's being honest with herself.

"You were right, you know," she tells him as they turn onto her street.

He chuckles then but doesn't look at her, his eyes taking in a particularly gaudy lighting display. "I usually am, love."

"Humble, too, I see."

He does look at her then, waggling an eyebrow. "That's not news."

She rolls her eyes. "I mean it, though. About me being used to being alone. It's kind of hard to adjust, being surrounded by people all the time."

"And yet you still sought my company." His tone is teasing but she can see the question in his eyes.

"This is easier," she says simply.

"Being around one person instead a hundred?"

Being around you. "Yeah."

"Well, I'm glad to be of service." He glances up as they turn down the short pathway to her front door, a small townhouse on the edge of a long row of them. "So this is your new place, eh? Were you that eager to get away from your parents?"

Emma makes a face as she digs through her purse for her keys. "They're trying for another baby, remember? I couldn't get away fast enough."

"Aye, I don't blame you one bit."

She unlatches the deadbolt and turns, surprised to see that he's already facing her.

"Well, it's been lovely, Swan, but I should - "

"Come in, Hook."

He's better at hiding his surprise this time but she can still see it, his eyes widening just a touch. She hates it. She hates that he's so wary around her, that he seems so scared of overstaying his welcome or that any bit of kindness or attention could be snatched away at any minute.

So she grabs his hand and leads him inside. "You want something to drink?"

She can see the moment he really gets it, when his astonishment morphs into a tiny smile. "I think my rum would go well with that hot chocolate you're so fond of."

She chuckles. "Done. You can hang your coat up over here," she tells him, shedding her own trench coat and scarf, kicking off her heels on the way to the kitchen. She gestures to the couch on the way. "Grab a seat. This'll just take a minute."

The floor plan is open, so she can watch him as he sits down, taking in the room around him. "For someone who isn't much for holidays, you certainly seem to have decorated well," he observes. There's garland and bows everywhere, along with a giant wreath hanging over the top of the fireplace.

She smiles as she rummages through the cabinets for mugs. "I put up the tree, but the rest of it was all Mary Margaret." Her mother had insisted, calling it a housewarming present. "You should see her loft. It looks like a fir tree exploded in there."

He laughs again and Emma can't help but grin at the sound. "Aye, that does sound like her."

"It was really nice of her to decorate," Emma admits. "I feel a little like Scrooge, you know?"

"What on earth is a scrooge?"

"Nevermind. Remind me to introduce you to Charles Dickens at some point."

His face grows even more confused. "Sometimes I don't understand half of what you say, Swan."

Emma has to stop and close her eyes for a moment - she's enjoyed spitting out pop culture references that she knows he won't understand just to see the look on his face, but suddenly she feels like the world's biggest asshole for doing it. As out of her element as she's felt lately, it can't possibly compare to what Hook, what Killian is going through, stuck in a realm he doesn't understand where most people see him as a villain, deliberately avoiding parties because he feels like he doesn't belong.

She swallows down the lump in her throat and gives the saucepan a stir. "Charles Dickens is a famous author here… well, was. Ebeneezer Scrooge was a character in A Christmas Carol, one of his stories. He, uh, wasn't all that fond of Christmas either."

"A villain, then?"

"Sort of. But he comes around in the end."

"I see. It seems you're not the person you should be comparing him to, then."

Emma smiles at him over the counter. "Maybe." She pours the hot chocolate and makes her way back to the living room. "You were wrong about one thing earlier, though."

He smirks as he pours a generous helping of rum into each mug. "I thought we already established that I'm always right, love."

She ignores his bluster as she settles next to him on the couch. "Christmas isn't just a holiday for families."

She can hear his breath catch and watches him as he takes a drink. He very pointedly does not look at her when he finds his voice. "Friends as well, then? Loved ones?"

"Yeah."

He hazards a glance in her direction, and she's never quite seen this look on his face before, embarrassed gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you for inviting me into your home, Emma."

She shrugs, hoping the blush she can feel creeping into her face isn't that obvious. "Nobody should be alone on Christmas," is all she says.

They sit quietly for a few minutes, sipping their drinks, settling into the same sort of ease she felt for most of their walk here. It's so pleasant that she almost doesn't go through with it, afraid to burst their comfortable little bubble, but she forces herself to get up and retrieve the small package from under her tree.

"This is for you," she tells him, and his jaw actually drops when she hands him the gift, wrapped in dark green paper with a simple gold ribbon. He sits frozen for a few long moments before setting down his mug and taking the package from her.

He stares down at it, dumbfounded, carefully setting it in his lap and fingering at the little tag where she'd written "Killian" in her messy scrawl.

He swallows heavily and traces his hand across the paper. "Emma, I didn't - "

"You helped me get my son back, so don't say that," she tells him firmly. "That's - that's the best thing anyone's ever done for me. And this is - " she gestures to the package, "not much."

"Yes, it is," he says quietly.

She knows it's not the same, that he didn't grow up with the holiday, but the wistful look on his face is painfully familiar to her. Emma had felt a little silly when she bought the gift, but she's never felt more grateful for an impulse purchase in her life.

She taps him on the shoulder, trying to lighten the moment. "Well, are you gonna open it or stare at it?"

His shy smile makes her breath catch. "Aye." She half-expects him to use his hook to open it, but he slowly removes the ribbon and carefully lifts up the taped-down edges of the paper so as not to tear it, neatly setting it aside on the coffee table.

It's a hardbacked copy of Master and Commander, and his mouth curves up as his thumb brushes over the heavy cover with its old-fashioned ships that look so much like the Jolly Roger.

"You have a lot of books in your cabin," she explains, "so I figured you liked reading. It's about a royal navy captain. There's about twenty books in the series, so if you like it, there's more where that came from."

"I'm sure I will. Like it, that is. It will be nice to have something new to read." He finally looks up at her, and the grateful, unguarded smile on his face nearly knocks the wind out of her. "This is lovely, Emma. Thank you."

She smiles back, taking the book from him him and setting it next to their mugs on the coffee table. He barely has time to raise an eyebrow in confusion when she reaches up, sliding her palms on either side of his face and pressing her lips to his.

He freezes under her touch at first, a stunned intake of breath his only reaction. She pulls back a fraction and waits, watching as his eyes slowly open along with a shaky exhale, his breath a hot caress on her skin. "You're full of surprises tonight, love," he murmurs, nudging her nose with his and leaning in once more, slanting his mouth over hers.

It couldn't be more different from their first kiss, that heated clash of tongues and clenching fists in the jungles of Neverland. Now his hand gently rests at her hip and her thumbs are caressing his cheeks, and he sighs into her mouth with a slow, gentle press of his lips.

He's just as warm as she remembers, though, the familiar taste of rum on his lips mingling with chocolate as he leans into her, more insistent now but still so, so soft.

Her hand slips to the back of his head as his tongue slides lazily over hers, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair while he presses gently at the small of her back. He hums into the kiss, a low rumble that vibrates through her and warms her from the inside out, her heart dancing in her chest.

Her other hand drifts over his heart when he pulls away from her mouth, pressing gentle kisses to her chin, her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead, anywhere his lips can reach. She lets out a soft laugh when he kisses the tip of her nose, because it's Christmas Eve and she's making out withCaptain Hook on her couch, and she's got butterflies in her stomach like she's a teenager on her first date.

He smiles at her when she finally opens her eyes, and his eyes are so, so blue up close like this. "I think," he says, letting his lips drift over her jawline to press just underneath her ear, "that I like this holiday."

Emma sighs in appreciation as his mouth slides over her throat, just a hint of a tease before he's back, another light press of his lips on hers that's only broken because he can't seem to stop smiling. She knows the feeling.

"Merry Christmas, Killian."

The next year, he takes over the decorating.

He puts mistletoe everywhere.


	2. Chapter 2

Killian thought he knew what it was to kiss Emma Swan.

In Neverland it was intense and hurried, a scorching release of tension that in the end left him feeling even more tightly wound.

But now - now , she kisses him not because he turned his ship around, or because he saved her father, or because she's trying to prove that his silly little dare had no effect on her. She's kissing him (invited him into her home, gave him a bloody gift, actually put time and thought into a present for him and he still hasn't processed that) because she wants to, her nails scratching across his scalp and sending delightful little shivers down his spine.

He keeps expecting her to pull away but she never does. In the end it is he who breaks away, and he can scarcely breathe but he doesn't stop, dropping little kisses all over her face and nipping at her ear, and he can't even kiss her properly when he returns to her lips because his smile gets in the way.

She laughs, a soft, delighted little noise that only makes him grin wider, and her answering smile is open and unguarded and the loveliest thing he's ever seen, a soothing balm for his battered soul. He can't remember the last time he smiled so much.

He's in love with her.

He has to stop, close his eyes for a moment while her thumb traces back and forth across his jaw and her breath comes in short little puffs over his lips. He'd spent most of the last few weeks feeling sorry for himself, backing away from Emma for the sake of her boy and trying not to dwell too much when she didn't seek him out. Despite the invitation, the party seemed like a bad idea; he knew she'd be there, and likely Neal as well. He preferred to let his first impressions of the holiday remain pleasant ones, enjoying the lights of the sleepy little town until he came across her on that bench, stunning in a red dress and looking just as lost as he felt.

And then she chose him.

"Killian," she says, and he opens his eyes, savoring the sound of his given name on her lips. "You okay?"

His hand squeezes at her hip and he feels his mouth twitching up once again. A hundred different innuendos come to mind but he can't find the will to voice them, figuring honesty is the best policy. "Better than that, love. This is just… the last place I expected to find myself this evening."

She nudges her nose against his. "I know what you mean." And then she's on him again, her mouth sliding sweetly over his and her hands tracing down his shoulders to grip at his upper arms, her palms hot through the thin material of his shirt.

They fall into a languid sort of haze, a slow dance of hands and lips and tongues, his fingers threading through her hair and carefully tilting her head as they breathe each other in. It never escalates, the two of them content with their warm, lazy exploration. She likes to nip at his bottom lip, and her hands grip at him a little tighter every time he hums against her mouth, and he savors every little reaction he can pull out of her until she tilts her head and sweeps her tongue over his and he forgets to think at all.

They come apart as slowly at they came together, the gaps of time between kisses gradually increasing until they sit with their foreheads pressed together, his fingers tracing lightly over her collarbone. He feels flushed, warm to the tips of his toes, and he can't stop the chuckle that escapes him.

"A one-time thing, love?"

"Shut up." She bites out the words but she's smiling, her lips swollen and a light blush on her cheeks.

"Tell me, are there any other Christmas traditions as delightful as this one?"

"This… isn't exactly part of the holiday."

"Ah. Well, it should be."

She laughs again, a lovely sound that he can't believe he's never heard before tonight. "I'll have to explain mistletoe to you later."

She grows quiet then and he waits, brushing his thumb over her shoulder and letting her gather her thoughts.

"I, uh… don't really have any Christmas traditions."

"Yet."

She lifts her head and looks him in the eyes, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"You don't have any traditions yet . You've your family now, Swan." He shrugs. "Seems like as good a time as any to start."

There's gratitude in her answering smile. "Well, there is one thing I always did."

"Kiss a pirate senseless?"

She smacks his arm for the second time that night and he pulls back in mock offense. "You wound me."

She shakes her head and stands up from the couch. "Wait here a minute, okay? I'm going to go change."

"Must you?" he asks, his eyes zipping up and down her body appreciatively. "I'm quite fond of that dress."

"I will hit you again."

He meets her eyes with a wry smile. "You do look beautiful, Emma."

Her mouth twitches up, the blush returning to her cheeks. "Nice try, but I'm still changing."

"It was worth a shot."

She doesn't actually hit him again, but he does have to duck to avoid the couch cushion that goes sailing in his direction.

He does have to admit, her new choice of attire is fetching in its own way - oversized plaid pants and a grey sweatshirt that keeps slipping off one shoulder. She joins him again on the couch and turns on the television, that strange magical box with its moving pictures.

"Have you ever seen a movie?" she asks, pressing buttons on some sort of handheld device that makes the pictures change. He watches, still stunned at the strange technology in this realm, and she has to repeat her question.

"Aye, I believe so. There was one of these," he gestures to the television, "in my hospital room. There wasn't much else to do to pass the time."

"So? What did you think?"

"Most of it confused me," he admits.

He sees a brief flicker of something - is that guilt? - cross Emma's face, and she sets the small device in her lap, looking down. "I was going to put it on A Christmas Story . They run a marathon of it every Christmas, and I'd always watch it at least once."

"So what's the problem?"

She rubs a hand over her face. "Sorry, it's just something you said earlier - it probably won't make much sense to you. And I've done that to you a lot, and I just - "

He leans in and presses his lips to hers, sliding his hand to her face when he feels her melt into it, lingering longer than he intended to. He smiles to himself when he realizes he gets to do this now, can kiss Emma whenever her wants. The knowledge is better than any gift she could have wrapped for him.

"It's all right, Swan, truly. I've got to learn sometime."

She sighs and leans her head on his shoulder, and the casual intimacy of it startles him. "Not tonight, though. Maybe…" She leans up and grabs another device from the coffee table, playing with the buttons until the television screen goes red, "NETFLIX" written across it.

"What's this?" he asks.

"Netflix is a… service? I guess? I'm not really sure how to explain it, but it has thousands of movies and shows on it, and you can search for specific ones."

He watches as she pulls up a search screen and types in A Christmas Carol. "Here we go," she says, setting down the device and smiling up at him. "Let's start your Christmas education with Ebeneezer Scrooge."

The moving pictures are, curiously, all in black and white, but Killian soon finds himself captivated by the story, the first one he's seen in this realm that isn't full of technology and references that he doesn't understand. Better than that, however, is Emma once again leaning against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

His hand finds its way to her waist once more, and he cares not a whit when his arms grows numb at their position, not when her eyes have fallen closed and her hair falls over her face, tickling at the bare skin of his open collar.

He's loath to wake her once the movie finishes, but a glance at the clock on mantle tells him how late it's grown.

"Emma," he whispers, and she stirs against his shoulder. "Come on, love. Let's put you to bed."

She groans in protest. "M'comfy," she mumbles, turning her face into his chest.

"You won't be after a night on this couch, Swan. Come, up you go."

He keeps his arm around her waist as he walks her down the hallway to her bedroom, her eyes half-lidded and her steps clumsy. She practically collapses on top of the blankets, not even bothering to climb underneath them as she snuggles into her pillow like an overgrown child.

A surge of fondness swells within him and he leans down, brushing her hair aside and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Good night, love."

Just as he's pulling away her hand reaches out, catching his wrist before he can turn to leave.

"Emma?"

Her thumb strokes at his wrist and, even half-asleep as she is, he can hear the hesitance in her voice. "...stay?"

He stands frozen for a long moment, his heart seizing in his chest for what must be the dozenth time that night. It takes another few heartbeats for him to find his voice again. "As you wish," he manages, his words soft and uneven as her hand slides into his, giving it a light squeeze.

He can feel her eyes on him as he removes his vest and boots, setting them neatly on the chair in the corner of the room while she sits up and pulls back the covers. After debating with himself a moment he removes his hook as well, but leaves the brace in its place.

He feels suddenly, uncharacteristically shy as he sits on the edge of the bed and he can see the same on Emma's face, her eyes more alert now. She shakes her head and laughs to herself, reaching over and grabbing gently at his shoulder. "Get over here."

He complies, letting her pull him down so she can lay her head on his chest, and of all the strange and wonderful gifts this night has bestowed on him, this is by far his favorite.

("The Princess Bride," she mumbles against him, long after he thought she'd fallen asleep.

"What's that, love?"

"That's the next movie we should watch. The Princess Bride."

"Perhaps we can find it on Netflix?"

"See? You're learning already.")


End file.
